


Kindling

by Roarkfish



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arson, Awkwardness, Conspiracy to Commit a Felony, Elaborate Pyramid Schemes, Gossip, Grocery Shopping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insurance Fraud, Obsessive Behavior, Pineapples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roarkfish/pseuds/Roarkfish
Summary: "There were a million and a half ways this plan could go to shit, but if anyone was going to burn down Tara's house for the insurance money, it ought to be a professional.Planning and obsession will only take you so far when you don't have the right skills. When life brought Tara exactly who she needed to get the job done, she learned that perhaps there were a few other skills she might still lack.





	Kindling

There were a million and a half ways this plan could go to shit, but if anyone was going to burn down Tara's house for the insurance money, it ought to be a professional. She knew she ought to be seen somewhere while it happens, have a good alibi, that sort of thing, but the actual fire and destruction stuff wasn't in her wheelhouse. She would end up trapped on the second floor, coughing to death like a dead idiot that couldn't collect a dime. No, Tara needed somebody with skills, with a good version of whatever arsonists use for resumes.

It was a stroke of sheer luck that a thoroughly annoying woman in her book club brought up in a discussion that there was a man just moved into their neighborhood that was several times acquitted of arson. Well, it was luck or it was some kind of long-con pyramid scheme to sell hand lotion or something. Tara prayed that book clubs were too sacred for that kind of bullshit, but people surprised her every day.

The supposed arsonist, Owen, also surprised her, in that he was just some guy. He didn't seem particularly clever to have gotten off six different charges of arson, nor did he seem aggressive or violent enough to have burned down four warehouses and two apartment buildings. To Tara, he just seemed like a moderately handsome man that was totally unphased by the wildly overpriced carrots in their local grocers.

The grocery store wasn't really her ideal place to approach Owen about acquiring his services. Unfortunately, it was the only place she knew where to find him based on the details from that woman in the book club. She didn't even know if he went to the Starbucks or the dumpy local place that secretly served Irish coffee on Labor Day. All Tara had was to approach this man Owen while he checked various fruit for ripeness. She sidled up next to him as friendly as she could.

"Uh, hey, do y-" she began, before a pineapple was thrust in front of her face.

"Sniff this and tell me if it's sweet yet," Owen said from the other side of the prickly fruit. "I can't smell very well and I don't want to waste a perfectly good Hawaiian pizza with unripe pineapple."

She sniffed more out of reflex than from his direction. She found herself wanting to disappoint him, but she couldn't.

"It's just about perfect," Tara told the pineapple in her face, then pushed it away. "Do you always ask people to smell things for you?"

He chuckled as he turned away from her, putting the pineapple in his cart among the other groceries.

"Not usually, but I thought if you were going to keep following me around, you might as well be useful."

He turned back to her with a frigid smile that did not even try to reach his eyes. It really should have frightened her, but Tara could suddenly see the man she had expected to find. It was oddly thrilling.

"Do you suppose it would be possible for both of us to be useful?" she asked, doing her best not to sound quite as excited as she really felt. Owen was her best chance, she could tell. "For more than just sniffing fruit, obviously."

He stood stock still for a few seconds, his face frozen in that terrible smile. Whatever had stuck him came unstuck all at once, and he ungracefully leaned back on his grocery cart and coughed into his hand. He put his eyes on anywhere but her face.

"Uh, I gotta get all this home first," Owen gestured his head back toward the cart, still looking at her, "but if you wanted to meet up somewhere later, I think I might be....interested in being useful."

Were they in private, or at least outside, Tara would have gleefully screamed her head off. It was not a guarantee or an any kind of real agreement, but it was the very beginning of her getting her house burned down and all that money in her pocket. It would have made her feel a little better if Owen did not look so goofy in not openly acknowledging what they were talking about. She could have approached the situation with more tact, especially in her obviously tailing him around the grocery store, but it was too late now. They were going to burn her house down. It was just a matter of logistics now.

"If you'd like to meet me at evening mass at St. Michael's," she checked her watch, "in two hours? We can sit in the back and talk details. No one will notice us until after the service."

It amazed Tara herself that she was coming up with these ideas so quickly. Then again, she had been sitting on this insurance fraud plan for the better part of a year. Something must have stuck for her eventually. Owen, though, was far less enthused with her now.

"Is this how they get you in this town?" he loud-whispered, checking over his shoulders. "A smile and a pineapple and suddenly you're balls-deep in Communion wine?!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Owen?!" Tara whisper-whispered, stepping closer to him. She put a hand out to take his arm and calm him but he pulled back hard at the sound of his name.

"Why do you know my name?" he whispered even quieter. He looked like a spooked child instead of a successful arsonist in his thirties. Tara was not nearly as smart as she felt only a moment ago.

"Someone told me that you had moved here recently," she began, making herself watch the mistrust fill his face, "and that there's something you do very well. Something that I need help with. A lot of help, honestly. So I wanted to talk about that, but hopefully somewhere that wasn't the produce section..."

Owen took a minute to process, then asked a few questions that did not entirely sound like he didn't already know the answers.

"So this isn't about making me join your Church."

"No; I don't even attend that often."

"And it's not some weird pyramid scheme thing either."

"I couldn't sell bread to a starving man."

"I don't know about that, but whatever," he smirked at her for a moment, then his cheeks reddened a touch. "This was never about sex either, huh?"

Tara gasped, feeling her face flush. With her head full of fire and fraud for so long, it had never occurred to her that an arsonist would ever think of anything else. Thinking back on her own forward behavior, she could see why he might have thought she was propositioning. A small, non-fiery part of her brain was pretty flattered that he was so quick to accept her attentions. Owen _was_ pretty cute, in addition to being an arsonist.

"I don't mean to hurt your ego when I say no, it wasn't supposed to be about sex," she lamented. Owen looked as embarrassed as she felt. She spoke honestly, "A woman in my book club talked about you moving here and I just had to seek you out."

The distrust returned to his face quick as a flash, then settled back into embarrassment just as easily.

"That wouldn't have happened to be a Steph Peters, would it?" he asked, once again like he already knew the answer. Tara honestly didn't know the woman's name and just shrugged. "Early forties, about 5'8, bleach blonde but puts stupid colors in her hair pretty often, always asks people about their kids just so she can talk about her shih tzu name-"

"Named Ringo, who has tinnitus," she finished for him, nodding. Normally she made every effort to ignore that woman, but Tara had paid very close attention when a side discussion turned to Owen and his unusual occupation.

"Yeah, my aunt is one of those people that would talk about people like her as 'quite the character,'" he said with little trace of affection. He sighed deeply. "I hope she didn't tell you to come talk to me to play matchmaker or something."

And then, something very important occurred to Tara.

"I think she might've been making things up to scare everyone away from you," she said almost mechanically.

All other embarrassments and disappointments of the day aside, nothing could have made Tara sadder than that. Owen really was just some guy. A pretty cute guy, but not an arsonist. Not the exact person that she needed more than anyone else. Just Owen. That's it.

"I wouldn't put it past Aunt Steph to lie just to make me unhappy," he sighed again. Taking another breath, he smiled at her. "But hey, it's not like she even knows half the bullshit I've done in my life. Who cares if she makes stuff up? She's not that creative anyway."

It was a little difficult to care about Owen fighting to be positive in the face of his aunt's gross betrayal. Tara was back to square one. Out of kindness, she thought it was best to give him a tip-off to what were apparently godawful rumors about him:

"Your aunt told everyone in our book club that you, a 6'0 redhead called Owen, used to be a very successful, professional arsonist on the East Coast and that you were only ever charged for six counts of arson in fifteen years, but you got off each time. At your last trial some people thought you were working for the FBI and that's how you went free, but you're just that good at what you do. She didn't say anything about being related to you but she said you've taken to shopping at this grocery store instead of the one on Elm. I guess that last bit was to help people avoid you."

Owen stood stock still, staring at Tara without saying anything for a long time. She didn't know what to say either. There was no advice she knew of for when someone's family accused them of arson. It was quite the serious claim, which is why she had never questioned it. Clearly she should have seen through the ridiculous falsehoods.

"So, what you're telling me," he said suddenly, looking back toward the long-ignored produce in his cart, "is that you followed me around this store and asked me to meet you at a church, so that I could help you burn a house down or something?"

Tara's face flushed bright red, she could feel it. A non-arsonist learning about her plans was never a part of her plans. But Owen knew now. He could tell other people, like her insurance company, or even the police. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to kill him or something for having figured it out but that seemed a bit higher pay grade than her lofty goals of insurance fraud.

Owen coughed lightly to draw her attention back to his thoroughly reddened face.

"So, uh, you wanna make pizza back at my place and talk about accelerants?"

**Author's Note:**

> If I were to write an epilogue, it'd be set to "River" by Akron/Family, a line from which the alternate title is taken from: Spark to Kindling


End file.
